Just Right
by Ponderosa
Summary: Starsky x Hutch (Complete) Slash. Hutch is a sleepy kisser...


Author: Ponderosa   
Pairings: Starsky/Hutch   
Warnings: [R]   
Notes: Written more with movieverse in mind, but it can read as either. Thanks go to Desdomonda for beta help.

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**Just Right**

Hutch is a sleepy kisser. He likes to wind his fingers into the curls at the base of Starsky's neck and urge him to tilt his head, just right, so that their mouths fit together perfectly. He loves kissing, and he loves Starsky, so it only goes to say that he loves the softness of Starsky's lips against his. He especially loves it when there's a slight scratch around Starsky's mouth that tells him his partner needs a fresh shave. He's not sure why, but there's just something about that scratch that makes a kiss extra good. It seems to enhance everything, from the play of lips on lips, to the hot searching tongue that meets his. 

Maybe he likes it because it leaves his mouth a little raw and gives him a lasting reminder of the kiss. Since, no matter how hard he tries, Hutch can never really hold on to a clear memory of how Starsky tastes for more than a minute or two. 

It's usually coffee that has left its mark on Starsky's tongue, sweet and rich, with just a hint of something that Hutch hesitates to call bitterness. As he nibbles on Starsky's lip, Hutch considers a better adjective; he's already well on his way to making an analogy between coffee and his partner. 

Coffee is one of those things that you think tastes pretty bad the first time you hold a cup in your hands. It smells nice, sure, but if it's been made right - and it has - it's so strong you're worried your hair's gonna fall out. You're just plain not sure if you like it, but eventually you realize you don't want to start a morning without it, and that's exactly how Hutch feels about the man he's kissing. 

If Starsky's like the coffee Hutch can taste on his tongue, bitter is the wrong word. There's nothing like that here, Hutch thinks, licking along Starsky's lower lip, feeling the fullness of it and the teeth hidden just beyond. No bad beans in this bag. David Starsky may be prone to brooding, but even though he's seen just as much bad shit go down on the streets as Hutch, he never doubts that he can make a difference. 

Sharpness, Hutch decides eventually, 'cause his partner is definitely sharp. Letting the analogy run to its end, Hutch decides he's the cream. He winds his tongue into Starsky's mouth, lets it tangle against his partner's, wet and slick. Yeah, he thinks, his mind moving as lazy and slow as the kiss, cream and coffee, that's right on the money, 'cause he and Starsky are nothing alike, but they fit together in all the important ways. 

Right now, that important fit is Starsky's body beneath his, and it's damn near perfect. Starsky seems built to curve against him, made up of taut muscle and shapely bones wrapped together in a package that's real easy on the eyes. Beautiful almost, if you tilt your head and notice the cut of his cheekbones and just how pretty the shape of his eyes are when he smiles. It's definitely a masculine sort of beauty, not the sort that's statue perfect, but made up of a good mixture of smooth sweeps, hard angles, and plenty of firm muscle. Hutch has discovered that the only real softness to be found on his partner's body is at the hollow of his throat and the curve of his butt. He kisses his way down to that sweet spot beneath Starsky's chin, and sucks there, just long enough to make Starsky hiss, and leaves a little mark reddening on his partner's throat - Ken Hutchinson was here. 

Hutch spends a little more time exploring the curves and planes of Starsky's jaw before finding his way back into that sleepy kiss again. He likes to take things slow, and he knows that Starsky likes it that way some of the time too, but mostly, when things get going, Starsky can't keep himself under control. Even now, his body is wound up tight like a spring, hips bucking sporadically and sending the waterbed sloshing beneath them. Times like this Hutch just has to try and hold out as long as he can. 

It's when his kisses coax a moan out of Starsky that he knows he's lost. And damn, if he isn't sure he's about to lose any second now. The hands that clutch at his hips are tightening, the mouth that sucks on his tongue is getting more and more demanding, and the little tingle in Hutch's stomach has turned into a full grown electric current that runs straight down his legs and makes his jeans a few sizes too small. 

He threads the tips of his fingers through those dark curls and holds Starsky's face in the palms of his hands like his partner is something easily broken. Starsky's not, of course, but Hutch can't help it. He's mostly practiced his kisses on women, and women like that sort of thing, but also, and this is the big one, he's never had something this good before that he doesn't want to screw up. Hutch knows from experience that if you try too hard not to screw something up, you'll end up screwing it up worse than if you didn't try at all. 

It scares him a little, and that's the tough part about kissing Starsky, about falling in love with the guy. Hutch expected that the day would come along that he'd fall for someone he wanted to settle down with, he just didn't know it would be this soon. He figured he'd be a bit older and a bit wiser, and at a time in his life when his pension plan would be something he actually worried about. 

Hutch pulls back, his lips feeling flush and thick, and studies Starsky's face. He'd screwed things up bad once before and ended up feeling pretty aimless until the guy came along, and he's pretty sure that Starsky would be well on the way to a coronary if he didn't have someone to smooth his edges. 

"What?" Starsky asks, his eyes opening and fixing on Hutch. 

Hutch shakes his head. "Nothing," he says, pulling back a little more. A smile flirts at the edges of his mouth as Starsky's forehead creases with worry. "I was just thinking," he explains. "About how we've got a good thing going here. You and I." 

Starsky seems a little peeved at the interruption, but makes a quiet sound of agreement. "Yeah, we do," he says, then breathes a soft puff of air out his nose. "In fact, it was getting better and better until you stopped." 

Starsky's proved to be pretty good with the hugs, and better with just being solid and close, but admitting the way he feels directly into the air - even when he's about to cry - just isn't his thing. Hutch takes what he can get, and knows the remark for what it is: David Starsky's brand of affection. "That right?" Hutch says. The flirty little smile gains firmer ground on his lips and he rolls onto his back, hands abandoning Starsky in favor of peeling open his fly. 

Starsky's quick to get to work on his own fly, but by the time he's kicking his jeans into a tangle at the foot of the bed, Hutch is already prowling back on top of him. Besides kissing, Hutch is pretty good at getting naked too. 

He pushes a hand under Starsky's clinging t-shirt, finds the swell of ribs with his fingertips and strokes his thumb across those gracefully curving bones. "I can feel your heart," he says. It's beating fast and strong, pounding against the back of Starsky's ribs so hard that Hutch can't measure the rhythm of his own. 

It looks like Starsky's about to say something, but instead he struggles to strip off his shirt as quickly as possible. As Starsky drags the shirt above his head, Hutch admires the taut stretch of Starsky's chest and the hard lines of the man's stomach as it narrows into the shadow between their bodies. 

"You look good," Hutch mumbles. "Been running more?" He skims his hand down Starsky's side, curves it under him and takes a handful of soft flesh. 

Starsky doesn't answer him, which isn't all that surprising. Hutch's mind tends to wander, spending time on at least two things at once, but Starsky's all about focus. "Maybe I should go with you more often," Hutch thinks aloud. Waking up early isn't really something he likes to do, but it could be worth it to spend just that much more time with Starsky. "What do you say, Starsk? You can wake me up tomorrow morning and I'll make us break-" 

Hutch's words, along with his entire train of thought, falters as Starsky arches up, seeking out his mouth feverishly. "Alright," he says, and drives his tongue deep into the warm familiarity of his partner's mouth. He tries his best to keep the kiss going as Starsky moans and twists onto his stomach, but eventually they have to break apart and Hutch pants softly against the smooth skin of Starsky's back 

"We'll talk about it later," Hutch says, knowing there's no more time for taking it slow, and he wraps an arm around Starsky's waist to pull him up and back until they fit together again. 

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End

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Disclaimer: Characters belong to their respective copyright owners. Plot, if you can call it that, belongs to Ponderosa. 


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